“Some
people do. People who watch football. People who don't spend their
lives getting stoned and playing video games.”
“We don't
do those things either.”
“But you
did before you...”
“Died? I
suppose so. Maybe we will again but I'm fairly certain I will never
say 'footie' in a jovial and conversation prompting manner.”
Harold
stared at him. “No, you probably won't. And you know what? That's a
pity, because you might find you enjoy a bit of social banter with
the common man.”
“If I want
social interaction I'll have a look on facespace. All I want of of
your average Joe is to pick his brains.” Sam grinned the nasty grin
Harold was becoming used to. “And perhaps his heart, liver and
muscle tissue.”
“There
were a dozen people in the labs downstairs you could have eaten
without hurting anyone who wasn't already dead and gone.”
“It's not
the same, though is it?”
“It's
not?”
“Nah. Meat
kept fresh by the application of a possessing demon is like eating
pickled onions. Nice as an accompaniment but you wouldn't make a
whole meal out of it. No.” He tucked the taser into the waistband
of his trousers and rubbed his hands together. “I'm looking forward
to the main course. Someone whose heart races when they look at you
and sweetens the meat with adrenaline.”
“You
really are quite disgusting, you know.”
“Am I?
I'll have to take your word for that. Or perhaps you'd like to turn
the 'blood and gore' setting down to 'horsies and ponies'? Oh wait,
you can't. This is real life.”
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